Can I Ask A Favour of You?
by Conspiracy Girl
Summary: Mulder asks a favour. Sheesh, look at the title.


Title: Can I Ask a Favour of You?  
Author: Conspiracy Girl  
Spoilers: none  
Disclaimer: They told me they wanted to be mine, 'cause I let them have fun. I'm using the insanity defense, and I have proof!  
Feedback: gratefully worshiped at Please, please, please, please, PRETTY PLEASE!(Come on, you want me to beg?)  
Notes:I wrote this afterfinishing an 5 a.m. to 1 p.m. shift at work, after another 8 hour shift the day before. Guess where I worked?

Nice weather means we were INSANELY busy, so you lucky people get to hear me complain.

Summary: Mulder asks the donut-shop girl for a favour... Third-person POV.

I swear, I'm going insane. If one more person comes up to the counter and asks for "Coffee" without telling me what size, what they want in it, do they want it in a china mug or a paper cup, I'm going to just scream. A nice, long, loud, ear-piercing, stress-relieving scream from the bottom of my lungs. It'll feel so good- right before I get fired, anyway.

This isn't even my shift. I'm supposed to have the day off. At this very moment, I'm still supposed to be in bed, in blissful sleep. Is it even legal to be up before 10 on a Sunday morning? But naturally, Susie had to call me to take over her shift when she had to go back to work, and of course I just had to agree. This proves it. I'm definitely insane. Lock me up, throw away the key, just keep all coffee machines far away from my cell.

Oh great. I finally got all the customers taken care of, and here comes another one. Figures. Like I don't have about a million things to clean and refill all ready. Wait, never mind. It's Mulder. I've gotta clean this glass, the reflection is terrible. Naturally my formerly white shirt is now stained brown, and my hair is all escaping from the bun. I know the uniforms are bad, but seeing him always makes me remember just how bad. I push my hair behind my ears and turn around to greet him. He's a regular, so I don't just give him the usual rushed "Hi-can-I-help-you-would-you-like-anything-else-with-that-enjoy!".

"Hi Mulder. The regular?" I ask, all ready starting to pour. I know what he likes.

"Yeah, please, Heather. Extra-large triple-triple and a large decaf with milk," he tells me, even though I have it memorized. That's another reason I like him. He knows how to order properly. None of that "coffee" stuff that reminds me of zombies. I can just see it. Hordes of people walking stiff-legged with their arms held out in front of them, chanting "cooffff-eeee...cooffff-eeee". Okay, pay attention or I'm going to burn myself again. I've still got scars from it happening before. By the way...

"So where's Miz Scully?" I ask, finishing off her's. I like her as well. She knows how to order too. She's probably waiting in the car. No, he's too calm. If she was he'd be bouncing on his feet, anxious to get back to her. The two of them are a hot gossip topic in here when we're not busy. Most of the girls have a crush on him, and I overheard Dan and Andrew talking about her when they were supposed to be fixing the cappucino machine. And how long did it take them again to figure out that it wasn't working because it was empty?

Anyhow, popular theory is that they're dating. Me, I don't know. There's something there, but I don't think they're involved. Like that, anyway. They should be, though. I've seen the way he looks at her while I'm preparing his order. She does the same thing. But they both seem to be oblivious to the fact that the other one does it too. Speaking of, he's getting that look again at my question, the one that says he's thinking about her. I see that look a lot on him.

"She's at home. I'm bringing it to her, we have some work to do," he tells me.

"So what kind of work? And would you like anything else?" I ask him. I'm betting on a donut. He's got a sweet tooth.

"We're partners. FBI," he tells me, showing me his badge. FBI? Cool. I wouldn't have guessed, but it suits them.

"Oh. We get a lot of that. Did you want anything else?" I ask him again. Weird. I don't normally have to repeat myself for him.

"Um...yeah. Actually, can I ask you a favour, Heather?" he sounds kind of nervous. I wonder what it's about. I bet it has something to do with Scully, though. With him, it's like the six degrees of Scully. Everything goes back to her, somehow.

"Sure. Ask away," I tell him. He probably wants something special done to a snack for her. People are always asking for weird things to be done to their food. One guy wanted all the bread stuff on the inside of his bun scraped out once. Another person asked for eight sugars and eight creams in their drink. I asked if they wanted any coffee with that.

"I'd like to get a cake with writing on it," he told me, pointing at the chocolate cake in the display case. Mm, good choice. Mankind's greatest contribution to the universe was chocolate.

"No problem," I tell him, taking it out. "What do you want me to write?"

"I... Can you... this," he says, taking out a notebook and scribbling something down. He passes it to me, and I pick it up and read it. Oh my. The other girls are going to be SO mad when they hear about this.

"Just give me a minute," I say, and I take the cake into the back. I get out the icing and write his message on it in nice loopy red letters. I don't make it too loopy though- she has to be able to read it. I finish and take it out front to show it to him.

"Great. Thanks," he says, looking a little relieved but still very nervous. I box the cake and ring up his order for him. He pays and picks up his food.

"Hey Mulder," I call after him. He turns around.

"Return the favour and tell me her answer, okay?"

"All right," he promises, looking even worse.

"Good luck. But I don't think you need it." He doesn't understand. But he will. I've seen her too, after all.

He leaves, on his way to ask her a favour. I smile and wish him well as I turn to the mountain of dishes I have to sort for the dishwasher. It's weird, but really sweet. Not moonlight and roses, but it suits him somehow.

She'll say yes. What woman can resist a chocolate cake saying "I love you Scully. Please marry me"?

The End.

I know, pointless. Tough.  
This has never happened, but I'm just waiting for it. We get everything else.

"Scully?"  
"Yes?"  
"Marry me!"  
"I was actually hoping for something a little more helpful."  
-Chinga.


End file.
